


My Love, Like Flowers

by sunrisenpoet



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Male Apprentice (The Arcana), No name given for the apprentice, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 05:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrisenpoet/pseuds/sunrisenpoet
Summary: After it’s all over Julian looks at him, and asks: “What now?”“Now?” He says, looking up at Julian. “Now we’re happy.”





	My Love, Like Flowers

After it’s all over Julian looks at him, and asks: “What now?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable question since their relationship was born in the middle of a crisis; he knows Julian, he dares think he knows him well, so he isn't surprised by Julian's silence breaking words, not by his pretended nonchalance, when he’s shaking, suddenly unsure of the future. A future with less crises, less Major Arcana to fight. If he concentrates a little, he can almost picture Julian asking all the other questions he isn't voicing: will they be able to make it without calamity constantly at their heels? Will he be able to live the new life he now wants to, or will he fall into his past mistakes regardless? Is he truly a changed man? 

Sometimes Julian is this way: it's not he doubts the sincerity of his process, or really having changed. He knows he's a changed man, a better man. It simply is the need for something to fill the silence he dreads could follow his need for reassurance, the need of something which isn't doubt to occupy his mind — which has always been much easier to ignore when he's constantly doing something, anything.

It’s how Julian asked the question what hits him: quietly, in a whisper, without theatrics. Julian’s blushing, and he can’t help but smile, because a blushing Julian  had always been a sight to take his breath away, specially when he looks vulnerable, open.

"Now?” He says, looking up at Julian. “Now we’re happy.” 

“Happy,” Julian repeats, his elegant fingers touching his own lips in a pensive manner, like he’s still afraid another obstacle will interfere with them, his certainty on their ability to overcoming it faltering for the slightest of seconds. Again, he isn't surprised: this is Julian, caring and anxious and prone to overthinking. 

“Yes, happy,” he reassures the doctor.

Julian's nerves make him burst into _giggles_ , something he didn't think a man who was almost a whole foot taller than him to be capable of. Yet Julian is, of course he is: he's impossible, mesmerising and unlike anyone he has ever met. Before he can notice, Julian is lifting him off the ground, arms wrapped around his waist and kissing him, smiles and laughter still lingering in the corner of his lips. He knots his fingers into Julian's hair in response, and kisses him back, feeling a smile of his own peak in between the kiss — a smile of complete elation. 

Julian has always loved how his mouth tastes against his: sweet, like home, like a future; but as much as he loved the taste of his mouth, his favourite thing had always been how, when he kissed him, the way he smells hit him right in his face: like dried flowers (violents and irises, Julian thinks) like the Lapsang Souchong tea Asra's favours, and the Earl Grey he himself does.  Like freshly brewed black coffee, like incense. Like his shop. Like certainties. 

Like new beginnings.

 

* * *

 

The Sovereignty is Nadia's now. With Lucio gone for good, and the old courtiers out of her way, her agenda to improve the City of Vesuvia — which goes from public works, to new institutions, or things as simple as opening the Palace to the people and making it more hospitable — begins to unfold like it was always meant to be. Without interruptions, for the betterment of the people, making Vesuvia into a juster, more equal city.

Of course, if she wishes to make the Sovereignty more accessible and open, flowers are a must, and Nadia has new floral arrangements made for the Palace. She gave specifications about colour, quantity, quality, what they’d be used for, but not reagarding the type of flowers they should have, a pleasant wave of surprise washing over her when she sees irises and violets adorning many of them. 

“What a pleasurable coincidence,” she says to Portia, who’s standing besides her. “Though, was it a coincidence or was it your doing?”

“My doing? Why would it be my doing, Milady?” 

“You tell me, Miss a-certain-magician’s sister in law,” Nadia replies, making Portia blush with her teasing.

Nadia leaves Portia's side to take one of the arrangements in her hands, scrutinising it. She buries her nose in the flowers, the now familiar smell of Irises taking over her, and making her think of hair as bright as the wheat fields to the west of the Palace, and freckles on golden brown skin. “The irises do smell like him, don’t they?” Portia says, finally. 

When Nadia first wandered into his shop, after seeing him in dreams beckoning to search out for him, to start again, Nadia never thought any of the events that would unfold would take any of them as far as they did. She used to concentrate on the need to find justice, based on lies her old courtiers had told her, with a tunnel-vision focus, genuinely believing a death sentence would make it all better. Like removing an opponent's pawn in chess. Nadia learnt no justice can ever be achieved when it's built on lies, and this newlife she gained was much more than she had initially bargained for. She never thought she'd gain a friend in the process either, someone who wasn't just a friend of the Palace, but a friend of _hers_ : one she could trust, one who would tell her the truth and not honey-worded falsehoods he thought she wanted to hear. 

Their minds were alike, prone to truths and stratagems, both of them grand architects of their own particular realms. But he was far more compassionate than Nadia, seeing possibilities of new beginnings and second chances, where Nadia wouldn't have seen them. Not to forget this braveness to go forward, no matter the cost — a courage which had reminded her of the one she too possesses inside her.

"Milady?" Portia asks, making Nadia snap out of her musings. 

With her new friend on her mind, Nadia smiles, and says: “Yes, I think they do.”

 

* * *

 

After settling in Vesuvia for almost six months, Julian and him began to travel. A lot. For the last three years they have been to what seemed to Portia like a thousand different places, but always making sure they come back to Vesuvia every four or five months with presents and hugs, and always sending letters and postcards from wherever they are now, from wherever their ship and their thirst for knowledge and adventure took them. In their last letter they'd mentioned the next time they reached Vesuvia's ports, they'd settle down there for a while, a long while. He had taken another medicine apprenticeship in Prakra, under Dr. Satrinava, while Julian worked with her as well, so they had plans to reopen Julian's clinic for good, this time hopefully somewhere nearer to Asra's and his shop, so he didn't have to run too much from one place to another on those days he'd help Julian at the clinic.

She suspects it was only half their reasons, strongly suspecting they didn't feel like spending too much time apart, not when they can help and complement each other so well. Portia's used to Julian being gone, but while she is, it didn't mean she doesn't miss him. Now, she missed _him_ too, as Portia didn't just win her brother back, she also won a friend.

Next time she’s at the Market she gets violets and wolfsbanes for her garden. When she plants them, she lets some coffee brew and lights incense she got from Asra at the shop on her way back. “Only a couple more weeks Pepi,” she tells her cat, who’s idling moving her tail, watching Portia as she works. “Only a couple more weeks and they’ll be back.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a vendor in South End Market Mazelinka gets her herbs from who has a daughter who wears a perfume with a scent not very different to the way  _he_ smells.

Every time Mazelinka catches it's musky scent mixed with irises and jasmine, she smiles. Back when he had first appeared in her house, coming in through her window, trailing after Julian's heels, after one look at him she had known he'd be a good one — and a good one he had proven himself to be. Luminous and warm like the sun, brave, dedicated, and curious and adventurous enough to find delight in that rapscallion of Ilya, yet level-headed and pragmatic enough to ground him when he needed it. Above all, determined enough not to let him go. She had never regretted telling him to hold on tight, and she doubts Ilya would have ever found someone as much of a good match for him anywhere else. 

After that Devil schmevil was finally out of the way, the only thing she had told Julian was now it was his time to not let the boy go. Whatever else which had happened was in the past, and he belonged with his magician now. She had never been more proud of Ilya than when he replied that he knew, that for him, this is it. She thought Lilinka would be very proud of how far Ilya's come too.

“I know a very good young man who smells just like your perfume, he’s a magician,” Mazelinka says to the vendor’s daughter. “You should never stop using it, if you ask me: sign of a good person.”

The vendor smiles. “Are you talking about Jules' beau?” 

“If you already know why are you asking?” Mazelinka replies.

 

* * *

 

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs that lead into the living quarters make Asra look up from what he's doing down in the shop. He had expected Ilya, but the footsteps don't sound like his, and the energy his magic senses doesn't feel like his either. "Oh, there you are," Asra says smiling, as his best friend and no longer apprentice comes into view. "I thought you'd left already."

He lets go of a dramatic gasp in mock hurt (a trait he picked from Ilya), clutching his chest with one hand, and leaving his bag on the shop's counter and display. "I would never leave without saying goodbye first, Asra," he says, in his usual relaxed tone, and Asra smiles. "I got delayed by a certain person, who's still sleeping by some miracle," he adds as he begins to check his bag's contents, making sure everything is in place, and he's not forgetting anything before he leaves. "Please don't prank him awake when I'm gone."

"I can't make any promises," Asra says, both of them knowing he'll keep his word. Then, with a mischievous curve of his brow, and a sly smile he asks: "Do I want to know what you did to Ilya to put him back to sleep?" 

"Do you really want me to tell you?"

"No, I actually don't," Asra says after a considering pause, blushing a little as he replies.

He laughs, Asra's heart (a heart forever connected to his now) leaps in his chest with the sudden force of his friend's joy. It began happening ever since they discovered they shared a magical connection where they could see what the other saw through his eyes, and sometimes feel what the other felt (though sense it through magic would be more accurate). Sometimes Asra's heart leaped or clutched at things he wasn't experiencing himself, and vice versa. It's proven itself very useful, almost as much as their magic being able to call the other from wherever they are, yet definitely more embarrassing. However, Asra didn't regret it, and loved when he could feel such patent waves of joy, regardless where he was. Being able to see him laugh with his head tilted back, at something only _he_ could've found funny (out of all the way's he laughed, Asra's favourite) was an added perk.

He kisses Asra's cheek before grabbing his bag, and heading for the door, saying: "I'm off to see Nadia, when Ilya wakes up please remind him of that house call he has at four. See you in the evening!"

The door shuts close, Asra left one more to his own devices, and he smiles. When he's away from the shop and Vesuvia in one of his travels, he always makes sure to carry a pouch of dry flowers and incense (whichever his best friend had taken a liking to before he left). That way, when the vastness of wherever he is, or the uncertainty of wherever he's heading makes him feel like his heart might give out, he can hold the pouch close and remember he's not alone any more; that people aren't leaving him, that he'll stay, and that there's always someone who will have his back, someone he can come back to.  

 

* * *

 

When Nadia finally demolishes The Lazaret, making the island into a recreational park, her new courtiers don't question her request to plant Irises in its gardens. No one asks her why either — not that she minds. Not only she has her reasons, reasons she doesn't need anyone but herself to understand; she also can't imagine a better symbolic touch to the rebirth of the island, a better reminder of the one person who did make it out of there alive. 

 

* * *

 

Recovery and becoming a better person is not a smoothly paved road. Julian has learnt that the hard way. He's having a a bad day, a 'capital B' bad day: one where the memories of everything which happened pressing on his temples, one where a voice inside his head is constantly reminding him of his mistakes and those cruel things he used to tell himself, and it refuses to shut up. He crawls from the bed to the Palace and back to his Clinic, images of Lucio, the Quaestor, his exile, the plague and the lives it took (the one very specific life it took) swarming in the back of his mind. He knows he's in a better place now, he knows he's a different man, a better one — one who found a way back from his mistakes, who accepts help and doesn't self destruct any more, but Julian can't help it. Against his better will, sometimes he has bad days.

Which is the exact kind of day this one turned out to be. He's made it back to his Clinic, and he's sitting down in his office, eyes unfocused and looking at no where in particular, when the rapt knock of his partner's fingers startle him out of his miserable reveries. He doesn't wait for Julian to respond to push the ajar door fully open.

"Ilya?" His familiar, grounding voice calls.

"Darling," Julian says, trying to pretend he's alright, that nothing's happened. "I didn't notice you coming in."

It's useless, though, as he sees right though him: "You're having a bad day," he says, leaning against the door. It's a statement, not a question, as his partner, his love, his most darling has always been too smart to fall for Julian's masks and his pretending. His old self would've thought him foolish to fall for the man underneath the act, and the man he is now would swat his old self if he could.

That he can tell doesn't stop Julian from dragging this for a little longer, falling into the old habit of thinking it'll go away if he pretends it isn't there: "Whatever makes you think that?" He asks, attempting to stand up.

“No, no, go back into your chair, I want to take a sit too.”

“Oh, oh, oh, are you  _sitting_ on me?” Julian teases, wolfish grin and cocked eyebrow.

" _Julian_ ," he says in an admonishing tone, that's still tender and full of affection. He crosses his office and pushes Julian back into the chair, Julian obediently obliging, already feeling himself melt around his beloved as he straddles him. Julian sighs, he knows better now, and he knows his partner well enough to know while he'd never force him to talk, he'd never let his insecurities prevent him from being the great, kind man he has always believing him to be. He feels his fingers thread through his auburn hair, down his fringe and against his cheek in a soft caress. He traces Julian's lips with his fingers then, and feels Julian exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding against them, and pressing light kisses on his fingers.

Julian belts forward to nuzzle the crook of his neck, making the other let go an amused huff, moving his hands to run soothingly against Julian's sides and back. "The good thing about memories, my love," he says, "is they're in the past. The events in them can't really reach you here. And if they could, if they did, I'd take your hand and we'd face them together, just like the last time, and just like we will however many times it takes." 

He untangles Julian from the crook of his neck, an holds his face before pressing a soft kiss on Julian lips. When he parts, Julian blinks once, twice before closing the distance between them and kissing him deep and almost desperate, like his lips were air and he was a man on the brink of asphyxia. His lover laughs, kissing him back and wrapping his arms around Julian's neck.

"And we'd have people to face them with," he says between kisses, with their foreheads resting against each other and their noses nuzzling, a promising interlude filled with reassurance and his warm, grounding touch. "And we'd come out victorious, _again_."

Julian is kissing his lips as soon as he finished talking, then places reverent kisses on his jaw, his neck, under his ear, only to bury himself and his worries in the crook of his always-right beloved again. He loves him like he has never loved anything or anyone before, this man who became his guiding light.

"Someone's eager," he teases Julian when he resumes kissing his neck.

"You're teasing me," Julian says.

"I thought you liked it when I did that."

"Darling, I adore it," Julian says, sitting back so he can run his hands through his lover's side, up and down until he leaves them on his hips, pulling him closer. "I love when you tease me and get all commanding, it's very hmm, dare I say sexy," he laughs at Julian's suggestively raised eyebrows. "But you want to know what's my favourite thing about kissing you?"

"Do enlighten me, Ilya."

Julian blushes as he clears his throat, feeling suddenly self aware. "You, eh, you've always smelled so... so, uh... so much like you, and it's very in my fave whenever I kiss you."

"And how do I smell? Not foul, I hope, as much as you do like foul things."

"Oh never, you smell deliciously. And I like you, and you're not a foul thing."

"But we do plenty of foul things," he says, grinning.

"That we do, and I dare say we're good at it," Julian replies, wiggling his eyebrows. "But you do smell nice, you smell like the dried flowers you hang in your shop, and your violet shampoo, and Asra's smokey tea, and sometimes like incense and black coffee. It smells like home, like everything will be alright."

He smiles, and gently pushes Julian's fringe back, tucking it behind his ear. He can't tease him for that, not he wants to. Instead he replies: "And it will be.

"And it will be," Julian echoes, catching his lips into his again, and moving his hands so he can lift his partner up and move him onto his desk, Julian standing between one of his legs, and taking full advantage of their height difference. Together they shove the clutter on Julian's desk to the floor, and Julian knows it's going to be a pain in the neck to recollect and put everything back in order, but it's a sacrifice Julian's very willing to make.

 

* * *

 

After it's all over, the Devil doesn't forget him.

He's still around, of course. He's a Major Arcana, and Major Arcana can see their power decreased and severely diminished, but they can't die; he is, however, not as significant as he used to be, not as powerful as he could've been if he had gotten his way. These days he's mostly confined to his own realm, though sometimes he still roams other places, going here and there, still trying to contact people who'd make a bargain with him — even if it doesn't come as easy as it used to.

When he's out for deals, he always leaves alone the people who smell like he does, or the people with guardian dogs. As soon as the smell of incense or dried flowers catch him, he turns around and leaves, leaving those people unbothered. He doesn't need to be told twice how much of a terrible idea is to challenge The Fool. Who would've thought the semblance of a death magician brought back no matter the cost would hold within himself and his nature the one thing the devil couldn't go against. The one thing which would bring down to pieces things which never change, things and people once bound to him.

He should've seen it, but he didn't, and now he has to continue his existence with the knowledge the one thing which can scar as deep as his chains is new beginnings.

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual thanks for reading! You can go say hi on tumblr if you'd like at my main (percvshelley) or my arcana blog (vesuviasandsickles).


End file.
